


Of soulmarks and one-sided matches

by ylc



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22364620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a happy experience.In Geralt’s experience however, things rarely ever go as they’re supposed to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 408
Kudos: 3935





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started watching the Witcher and of course I fell in love with the show. And as it often happens when I fall in love with something, I felt the urge to write. And since these two are too adorable together, I decided to give it a go so… here we are.  
> I changed the events that take place in canon a little bit at parts, but I hope the esctructure is still recognizable somehow, so you might put the scene together :P  
> Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood _,_ ” the man says, leaning casually against the wall. Geralt realizes, perhaps a tad too late, that he had been staring and so the foolish bard had taken it as an invitation to approach.

Before he can say anything to shake off that foolish notion though, the other man’s words truly sink in and something heavy loads itself in his chest.

 _It can’t be_ , he thinks a little desperately, resisting the urge to tear apart the wristband covering his mark, just to check that the words written there actually match the bard’s words. _There must be a mistake_ , he thinks a bit hysterically; surely he’s misremembering his soulmark. Except of course that’s not actually possible: he’s traced and retraced the letters ever since he learnt to read, the words not only imprinted on his skin now, but also on his mind.

It occurs him that he could simply not answer; he could stand up and leave and never look back. Except he also knows _destiny is a bitch_ and if this bard is in fact his soulmate, something will happen on his way to the door that will make him say something to him.

“I’m here to drink alone,” he answers, hoping (but not really) that that’ll be the end of it. You can’t cheat destiny, he knows, so there’s little use on trying to think of a witty response that might prove the other man isn’t his match.

“Good, yeah, good,” the man replies, no flash of recognition shining in his eyes. For some reason that he does not want to think about, that makes Geralt’s stomach drop. “No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except for you. Come on. You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.” His tone is jovial and friendly, maybe a tad teasing and the man does not stink of fear as humans usually do when facing a Witcher, but he does seem a little too talkative and with little self preservation instinct. A lousy match, if Geralt ever saw one and yet-- “You must have some review for me. Three words or less.” He pleads, eyes wide and hopeful and Geralt’s stomach twists unpleasantly. It can’t be, he tells himself, this man can not be his soulmate and yet--

“They don’t exist,” he settles for answering, unsure of why exactly he’s bothering at all. The man showed no signs of recognizing his earlier words as those inked on his skin, so surely Geralt isn’t his match. Not that Geralt cares, he reminds himself sharply, he does not want a soulmate, he wouldn’t burden someone with being his match if it could be helped, but--

The man has carried on talking, obviously having no trouble carrying a conversation on his own. As he starts putting facts together, figuring out Geralt’s identity, the Witcher thinks their conversation is truly at its end, for no sane man would want to spend any more time than strictly necessary in his company. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia,” the man says triumphantly, as if it had actually been hard to figure out and Geralt rolls his eyes at the theatrically. 

It’s puzzling however, that even knowing who he is, the man remains unscared, simply standing in front of him with a wide smile, looking quite pleased with himself.

Odd, that.

For some reason, it only makes his stomach sink further.

* * *

Time passes, as it tends to do and while he and Jaskier often part ways, they do end up meeting again soon enough. Geralt is more than a little puzzled about this; destiny can be quite cruel, he’s well aware and yet this feels like pushing it. If he and Jaskier aren’t meant to be together, why destiny keeps throwing them into each other’s path?

More often than not, he finds himself sitting by the fire at their makeshift camp, tracing the letters on his wrist slowly, reading and re reading the words that seem to make so little sense now.

_I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood._

Although he’d deny it, the phrase had never failed to bring a small smile to his lips before: it showed his match was brave and whimsical, it showed they were someone who wouldn’t be afraid of his reputation.

Jaskier, to be fair, is indeed brave and whimsical and not at all afraid of him, but now Geralt also knows his match is a one-sided one. Jaskier is his soulmate, but he’s not Jaskier’s.

Of course he has no actual proof that Jaskier doesn’t bear his words on his skin, but knowing the bard and his tendency towards romanticism, Geralt is certain he’d have mentioned it by now. Hell, he probably would have mentioned it at their first meeting, before he started babbling senselessly, before he insisted on following Geralt on his new job.

Gerald puts his soulmate wristband back on, covering the words once more, running his fingers over the worn leather. It’s traditional for a baby’s first gift to be a soulmate wristband; the knowledge of the words written on one’s skin is considered sacred. Even healers hesitate to treat a wound anywhere close to the mark, concerned they’ll catch a glimpse of the words written there.

He’d never admit it, but the mark had been a constant source of comfort through his life. Despite everything he had lived through, despite everything that had happened to him and all he had done, there was _someone_ somewhere that was meant for him. He always told himself he didn’t actually want to find them, knowing there was nothing they could offer them, knowing that a Witcher’s life was not conductive to a relationship. Knowing his love was more akin to a curse than the promise of endless bliss that meeting your soulmate was supposed to guarantee.

And yet--

“I thought Witcher’s didn’t have soulmarks,” Jarkier comments, tone flippant as he drops himself on the ground next to him. Geralt didn’t actually hear him coming and he narrows his eyes, suspicious; the bard is entirely too quiet when he wants to be.

“Most don’t,” he replies simply with a careless shrug. It’s not a completely erroneous notion; in fact, the main reason why children were sent off to become Witchers once upon a time, was because they lacked a soulmark. The logic was that they were unlovable anyway, so it only made sense for them to dedicate their life to other purposes.

Jaskier stares at him, curious, but he doesn’t prod. He touches his own wristband gently, something akin to regret flashing in his eyes, but it’s gone the next moment. Geralt wonders if Jaskier has already met his match, but lost them to some foolishness and now he lives with the regret.

He won’t ask though. It’s not polite to ask about someone’s mark and while Geralt doesn’t care for social conventions, he’s not keen on listening to Jaskier wax poetically about his _actual_ true love and his many woes after losing them. He’s not enough of a masochist for that.

He looks down at his wrist once more. Most Witchers don’t have marks and so his had been a constant source of envy among his peers. _If they only knew_ , he thinks sarcastically. He bears a mark, yes, but it’s a one-sided match and so, in the end, he’s just as unlovable as every other Witcher.

Destiny is a bitch, indeed.

* * *

His match might be one-sided, but it doesn’t mean that Geralt can bring himself to simply forget all about it. It’d be much easier if he could, of course; his life would be far simpler if he didn’t feel the urge to be close to Jaskier even knowing the bard doesn’t love him back. It’s very troublesome, having a match that seems to attract trouble wherever he goes and to feel compelled to protect him of all harm.

It’s curious, really, how much trouble the little bard can attract. His tendency towards romanticism and his apparent desire to bed every available person in the continent certainly doesn’t help matters and so of course when Jaskier enlists Geralt’s help to protect him at the feast in Queen Calanthe’s castle-- well, how could Geralt say no?

It’s a miserable affair, to be honest. Feast aren’t a Witcher’s natural habitat-- he’s not skilled in the type of sparring that involves conceleaded insults and barbed words rather than pointy swords, but he manages it to the best of his ability.

He’s beginning to realize there’s very little he wouldn’t do if his soulmate asked him to. 

The only person looking more miserable than himself is poor Princess Pavetta and considering this is her engagement feast, he thinks that’s to be expected.

Queen Calanthe’s attempt to “hire” him almost makes him leave, truth be told. Nobles are always like that: so ridiculously entitled, never having learnt the meaning of the world “no”. But he does not get involved in humans petty troubles and he’s not afraid to let her know it. “I’m not for hire as bodyguard,” he sentences and hopes that’ll be the end of it.

“You were hired just so by the bard,” she replies stubbornly, waving a hand dismissively.

 _Ah, but that’s different_ , Geralt thinks. _He’s my match and so it’s my duty to protect him._

He can all too well imagine the reaction such words would cause. These people no doubt believe Witchers don’t have matches; after all they’re no better than your average beast, with no feelings to speak off. 

“I’m helping the idiot free of his coin,” he replies instead, because the last thing he wants is to drag even more attention to himself.

The Queen scoffs, amusement dancing in her eyes. She’s beautiful, if a little cold and all the more imposing because of that, he supposes. “And he’s the idiot?” she asks, amused and Geralt clenches his jaw, his hand going unprompted to his soulmate wristband. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by the woman and Geralt bites the inside of his cheek angrily: of all the people in the world to learn of his vulnerability, it had to be the heartless Lioness of Cintra.

Against all prediction though, Calanthe’s expression softens. “It’s a tragedy, don’t you agree?” she says after a beat, gaze lost into the distance. “To meet your match and never be able to acknowledge it.”

He stares at her thoughtfully, actually feeling sorry for her for a few seconds. As a Princess and Heiress to the Throne, Calanthe probably never had the chance to look for her actual match: she was probably forced into an arranged marriage. Loveless, but useful. Just like the one she’ll be forcing her daughter into, no doubt.

And speaking of Princess Pavetta-- he can’t help noticing the way the girl is clenching her fists, expression brokenhearted. Her eyes tell a tale of unspeakable pain and Geralt thinks that yes, it’s a tragedy to find your match and never be able to actually be with them.

He looks in the direction of Jaskier, who’s merrily chatting with a group of noble ladies and he touches his soulmate wristband once more.

What a tragedy indeed.

* * *

Jaskier is curious of his mark, Geralt can tell. He’s always been, but his curiosity has only grown with time. It’s natural, he supposes; they do spend a lot of time together nowadays and they often end up in various states of undress in front of one another, but Geralt is always careful to keep his wristband covering his mark.

Jaskier is careful about his mark too and that’s just natural: it’s one of the first things any child learns, one does not share their mark with just anyone. You’re only supposed to take the soulmate wristband off when bathing and never in public baths. Not even other lovers are meant to see them; it’s a private thing, a secret to cherish until one meets their match.

But Jaskier wants to ask. It’s not uncommon for Jaskier to be around when Geralt is bathing, more often than not he even offers to help and Geralt is too weak to tell him no. On those occasions Jaskier will run the wet cloth over Geralt’s arm, pausing at the wristband, considering it for the longest time. The Witcher will see him gathering his courage to ask, but he always seems to think better of it, turning his attention elsewhere, starting to babble about one thing or another.

If Jaskier asked, Geralt finds himself pondering late at night, what would he answer? If he told Jaskier that he is his soulmate, how would he react? Would be he angry, annoyed at Geralt keeping it secret? Would he be disgusted to be the match of such a monster?

That’s an unfair thought and he knows it. If anything, Jaskier would probably be heartbroken at the revelation: he’d apologize profusely and he’d feel terrible about it, as if Geralt’s faulty mark was somehow his fault. As if the fact that Geralt is so unlovable that even his soulmate can not love him back was somehow Jaskier’s fault.

No, he thinks. He can never tell Jaskier the truth. It’d only hurt them both in the long run.

And yet--

* * *

Not being loved by his soulmate is painful, but it does not compare to the pain of nearly losing said soulmate. Geralt nearly drives himself mad with worry for his friend and so he looks for help desperately, offering whatever it takes to have the sorceress help him.

Yennefer is-- well. There’s no denying just how beautiful she is; how alluring. It’s hard to resist her considerable charm and even knowing he’s already met his match, Geralt finds himself falling under her thrall. It doesn’t last long of course and once sated, he has no qualms about leaving her in the nearly collapsed house and going back to Jaskier, aching in ways he does not care to think about. Jaskier for his part, is unusually quiet in the aftermath of his brush with death, but Geralt thinks that’s to be expected.

“Is she--” Jaskier begins a few nights later and Geralt turns to look at him, one eyebrow arched. The bard sounds... _off,_ but he can’t pinpoint why. There’s tension in every line of his body though and that makes Geralt uneasy. “She was very beautiful.”

It takes Geralt a few second to figure out who he’s referring to and when he finally does, he shrugs non committedly. “She was,” he agrees laconically. It’s a simple fact and he doesn’t understand what is Jaskier’s point.

“Is she-- you know--” he gestures at Geralt’s wrist, a tad desperately and Geralt feels like he’s been stabbed.

“No,” he deadpans, but doesn’t volunteer any more information. Jaskier’s shoulders relax, no longer looking like he’s bracing himself for a blow and Geralt feels a wave of anger so intense he has to bite the inside of his cheek till it bleeds, to stop himself from saying something stupid. But truly, what right does Jaskier have to look so relieved that Yennefer isn’t Geralt’s match? What gives him the right to hoard his attention and affection, when he can’t offer the same back?

“It’s hypocritical of you,” he says, anger simmering beneath his skin. “To judge me because I slept with someone who isn’t my match.”

“I don’t-- Geralt, I’d never!” the bard exclaims, looking offended. “I just-- I don’t--” He closes his mouth, looking away, expression sad. “Nevermind.”

He knows that that wasn’t Jaskier’s intention, but he’d rather not continue with this discussion. He’s angry, because Jaskier has no right to demand his fidelity, no right to be _jealous_. He might care for Geralt, but he’ll never love him as a soulmate is supposed to do and so Geralt will take whatever happiness he can find in whoever’s arms he wants.

He stares at Jaskier, who’s looking miserable as he takes out his lute and starts playing a few cords. He could find a little happiness in his soulmate’s arms, he thinks: if he offered, he’s fairly certain Jaskier would agree. Friends who decide to have sex is not such an uncommon occurrence and that way Geralt would have a little bit of the affection he craves.

But it’s by no means a long term arrangement. Sooner or later, Jaskier will meet (or reencounter, as the case might be) his actual match and where will that leave Geralt? His heart is bound to break anyway, but there’s no need to torture himself so.

No need at all.

* * *

“It’s not me, is it?” Yennefer asks, a bit playfully, but there’s an undertone of worry in her voice too. Her fingers are resting over Geralt’s soulmate wristband, tracing idle figures over the worn leather.

“No,” he replies honestly and the sorceress relaxes further into his embrace.

“I lost mine,” she tells him softly, showing him her unmarred arms, except for the lines on her wrist. “It’s part of the price I paid for… well, everything.” She shrugs non committedly, but he can tell it bothers her. “I foolishly thought I wouldn’t regret it. The arrogance of youth, huh?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, not really in the mood for this conversation. If Yennefer insists on having it, he’s afraid he’ll have to leave and he’d rather not: it’s rather cozy inside the sorceress’ tent.

“Have you met yours?” she asks and Geralt grunts, sitting up. It’s probably for the best if he leaves now: after all, Jaskier is all alone outside and who knows what sort of trouble he might run into if left unattended.

“It’s him, isn’t he?” Yennefer says, before he can leave. Geralt stops his quick retreat, shoulders sagging under some invisible weight. “Why aren’t you together then?” she asks, tone soft and gentle, placing a hand on his arm. 

“It’s a one-sided match,” he confesses softly and he’s a little horrified at how his voice seems to tremble.

“Oh,” Yennefer replies, dropping her hand to her side, eyes full of pity. “I am sorry,” she says, both of them knowing there’s nothing she could say that would make him feel even a little better. “Come back here,” she says, leaning back on the bed, seductive although the pity in her gaze remains.

It’s a little pathetic, Geralt thinks.

But he does go back to bed with her anyway.

* * *

Yennefer leaves and Geralt is angry. Not because she left or not entirely. He’s angry because she left and it hurts, even though she’s not his soulmate, even though he always knew it would end.

It hurts because he cared for her and she cared for him and that would have been enough. But what did he expect, honestly? Not even his bloody soulmate can love him and to think he foolishly believed--

“Phew, what a day!” Jaskier exclaims, approaching him, full of false cheer. His smile is a little strained, his eyes look a little red rimmed, but Geralt ignores all this, too submerged in his own pain. “I imagine you’re probably--”

Later, he’ll reflect on how sad and tired Jaskier himself looked. Later, he’ll realize the bard was trying to cheer him up, despite feeling quite miserable himself. But misery loves company and Geralt is too good at inflicting misery to those around him.

This, he thinks as he watches Jaskier leave after his angry tirade, is why he has a one-sided match.

Because he could never deserve his soulmate’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m a sucker for happy endings, so of course one is coming. Also, bear in mind I’m only familiar with the show’s canon, so I’m likely to make some things up :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
> Also, english is not my native language, so if you spot any mistakes let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that when I posted this, I tagged it as a two-shot… but I’m weak and there were so many things I wanted to write, so much pining to indulge into and well… It got a little out of hand.  
> So now it’s supposed to be a three-shot :P But there’ll be a happy ending, I promise as much! ;)  
> Enjoy!

All meetings serve a purpose in the great scheme of things, or at least they’re supposed to, if one is inclined to believe destiny does exist. As it turns out, meeting his soulmate and traveling with him for so many years, not only served to break Geralt’s heart as he had originally thought, but it also prepared him to travel with a child.

To be fair though, Princess Cirilla complains much less about the harsh traveling conditions, often going for days with little food and even less rest. Her travels before Geralt made her a bit skittish and eager to keep moving and while she’s safe now (Geral will make sure of that) some habits take a while to wear off.

She is just as talkative as his previous travel companion though, or at least she becomes more talkative the more she trusts him and she has even less filters than Jaskier ever did, curious about many things and never hesitating to ask.

There’s also the fact that nowadays Geralt might find himself a little more willing to talk. Maybe it’s because Ciri is young and so her questions are candid, hiding no other intentions and so he finds it easier to talk to her. Or maybe it’s because he’s desperately missing Jaskier and a part of him (a foolish part of him) thinks it’s good practice for whenever he meets the bard again.

If destiny puts his soulmate in his path once more, he’ll definitely do better by him this time around.

But, as luck will have it, it seems destiny has finally decided to give him a break and he has yet to hear any news from the bard. At the very least, he thinks he would want to see him again, if only to apologize for his behavior. He does not expect forgiveness, not really, but maybe--

He’s no actively searching for him, you see. But he does keep his eyes and ears open, hoping to get a clue on the bard’s whereabouts. Ever since that ill-fated day though, it’s like the ground has swallowed him whole.

He tells himself Jaskier is probably fine and that his prolonged silence is nothing to worry about, but he can’t help but to wonder.

“Are you alright?” Ciri asks, taking a seat next to him. Geralt startles, having got so lost in his thoughts that he had almost forgotten the world around him. The princess has reached for his hand, taking it in hers, examining his wristband curiously. Geralt pulls back, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary and Ciri turns to look at him with a hurt expression that she hurries to smooth down.

“Sorry,” she murmurs after a while, still watching him closely. “But you were holding your wrist so tightly, I thought maybe there was something wrong.”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, rubbing his wrist distractedly. “It’s just-- I was thinking.”

Ciri tilts her head to the side, curiosity increased. “About your soulmate?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, instead standing up abruptly. “We should get moving. The nearest town is still a few hours of travel away and the night is fast falling.”

Ciri throws him a look that says she knows he’s avoiding her question, but she’s willing to let it go for now. Geralt frowns, watching her as she starts walking in the direction they were going before they stopped for a short rest and he thinks he really needs to work on his communication skills. There was no need to be that harsh and while Ciri doesn’t seem to have taken it personally, he should attempt to do better.

After all, if he’s ever granted the blessing of seeing his soulmate again, he’s hoping he’ll be a better man by then.

* * *

“My mother didn’t wear her soulmate wristband,” Ciri tells him, as Geralt carefully helps her bandage up the slight cut she got on her arm. Her wrist is uncovered, the cut too close to it to work around it, but Geralt is careful about keeping his eyes averted from her mark. “She used to say she had no reason to hide her love.”

Geralt hums, eyes focused on the work. The cut isn’t terribly deep and it has stopped bleeding, but he can’t help the guilt eating him inside. If he had been faster--

“What happened to your soulmate?” she asks, having long ago figured he has already met them, even if he has failed to offer more information on the subject. “Did they die?”

“No,” Geralt says, his heart giving a painful thud. No, Jaskier can’t be dead-- he’d know if he had died, wouldn’t he? He would have felt it, even if-- “At least I hope not.”

“Is it Yennefer?” the girl asks, because that probably seems like a logical conclusion. Geralt has spoken of the sorceress a great deal and the affection and admiration he still feels for her probably coloured his tone when he talked of her. In contrast, he has barely mentioned Jaskier, but he can’t even utter his name without feeling like he’s been stabbed.

“No,” he replies simply, his lips curving upwards briefly. “He thought that too, when we met her.”

Cirilla’s eyes go very wide. “But-- but you’re supposed to show your mark to your soulmate when you met! How could he think that, if he had already seen yours?”

“He hadn’t.” And, if Geralt has his way, he never will. “It’s-- complicated.”

Ciri snorts, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I really wish adults would stop using that excuse around me,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s usually code for  _ I don’t want to think about it. _ ”

Geralt smiles at her, ruffling her hair. “Smart girl.”

Ciri huffs.

* * *

Geralt expects his reunion with Jaskier to go many ways, but in the end it’s all rather simple. The bard attempts to escape when he sees him walk into the inn, Geralt stops him, Jaskier slaps him, Geralt apologizes. Ciri comes to Geralt’s rescue, stopping Jaskier from breaking his lute against Geralt’s head.

All in all, it’s a very pleasant affair.

And of course Jaskier and Ciri get on like a house on fire and it occurs Geralt, a bit belatedly, that he’ll never have another minute of blessed silence while traveling ever again. Of course that doesn’t matter, not even a little bit, not when he’s been blessed with having such traveling companions.

He ought to appreciate the gifts destiny has put on his path.

He’s certainly never complaining about destiny again.

* * *

It’s curious, how easily they settle back into their old routine, even if there are a few changes. Jaskier keeps talking non stop, with Geralt just grunting and humming on occasion, but now Ciri often joins the conversation, providing Jaskier with someone who’s actually willing to engage with his endless tirade of small talk and while Geralt complains about their constant chatter, there’s a warm feeling in his chest that he thinks might be contentment.

At night, they set camp just as they’ve always done: Geralt goes looking for firewood (and if they’re lucky enough, something to eat), while Jaskier busies himself with the fire and now Ciri helps with setting out the bedrolls. Since the nights are getting colder, he’s not exactly surprised when he comes back the first night to find Ciri has placed their bedrolls next to each other’s but he’s a little surprised she put his and Jaskier’s together.

He also pretends he’s not hurt when Jaskier re arranges them.

“It’s better for you to be in the middle,” Jaskier explains to her, when the girl pouts. “You’ll be warmer and better protected in case something happens.”

It’s a sound logic, of course, but Geralt wonders if that’s all. He and Jaskier never had trouble sleeping close together when the situation demanded it, but he supposes things have changed.

Later, once they’ve settled in for the night, his eyes meet Jaskier’s over Ciri’s sleeping form and the bard offers him the smallest of smiles, making warmth spread across Geralt’s chest.

He did not expect forgiveness, but that does not mean he doesn’t want it.

Oh, how he wants it.

* * *

Soulmates are a common enough subject when it comes to love ballads. One-sided matches even more so; they lend themself perfectly to spin off a sad tale of unrequited love. Jaskier’s repertoire had never included too many of those, the bard never one to really enjoy angsty tales but nowadays it seems like it’s all he can sing about. Geralt’s heart never fails to constrict whenever the bard starts yet another melancholic song but he can’t bring himself to say anything about it.

What could he say, anyway? That the songs hit a little too close home for comfort and that he’d prefer if Jaskier refrained of singing of such woes? No, that would give too much away and he really can’t risk the other man finding out the truth of his mark.

So he keeps quiet and sits in a corner, sulking as he hears his soulmate sign of unrequited love, as if he knew what that means. As if he understood the pain of spending your days and nights with someone, knowing they’re the one meant for you but that they’re meant to be someone else’s.

Not that he’d wish Jaskier to know that kind of pain, of course. To be fair, he wouldn’t wish it even on his worst enemy.

But it doesn’t feel fair, not at all.

* * *

“That seems a little harsh,” Ciri is saying, when Geralt wakes up. He’s not entirely certain what woke him up in the first place, since nothing seems truly amiss. He can hear the cracking of the firewood and his companions’ quiet breathing, along with the usual sounds of the forest and Roach’s snoring. Nothing is amiss, and yet--

“It was,” Jaskier replies quietly, almost brokenly and that’s when Geralt realizes the pair aren’t lying next to him. He can’t see them, his back facing the fire, but he somehow feels they’re having a private conversation and so he decides not to alert them of the fact that he’s not asleep. 

“Were you very angry?” Ciri asks, voice soft and full of compassion. Geralt can picture them perfectly, leaning close together, Ciri offering as much comfort as she possibly can.

Jaskier chuckles, but there’s no amusement in it. “Not really, no. The anger came later, much later. At the moment-- at the moment I was too busy nursing my heartache to be angry.”

Geralt’s heart picks up speed, which is painful but not more painful than hearing Jaskier’s broken hearted tone. He’s speaking of that day at the mountains, he’s certain of it and he should-- he should--

Ciri hums thoughtfully. “My grandmother used to say,” she begins softly, her voice breaking just the slightest bit at the mention of her grandmother. “That the people we would take a dagger through the heart for, are usually the ones stabbing us.”

Jaskier lets out an startled laugh, devoid of any joy and Geralt’s blood runs ice cold. “True, very true!” he replies a bit hysterically, his laugh turning into something close enough to a sob. “But you know… you forgive them eventually.”

“If you survive,” Ciri points out and Jaskier huffs.

“Indeed,” he agrees quietly. Silence descends upon the camp, the air filled with tension and Geralt’s stomach is twisted in knots. Should he say something? But what? No apology would ever be enough and yet-- “We should go back to sleep,” Jaskier says, tone firm, determined to put the subject behind them apparently.

“He didn’t mention you much,” Ciri tells him then and Geralt can picture Jaskier’s hurt expression all too well. But it’s not what he thinks, he did not mention him because-- “I think… I think it just hurt too much.”

Ah, such a clever girl. “It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier replies after a beat, tone full of false cheerfulness. “Not anymore. Destiny brought us back together and that-- that means something, doesn’t it?”

Much more than he probably imagines, Geralt thinks. 

* * *

“Well, aren’t you glad you finally got yourself a capable pupil?” Jaskier comments playfully, watching as Geralt tries to teach Ciri the proper way to hold a sword. He knows his are too big and heavy, not made for regular humans, but they’re the only ones at hand and if something happened, they’d be the easiest weapon to reach for.

He grunts in acknowledgment, Ciri dropping the sword after just one trust forward. They’ve been going at it since the early morning: Geralt has never slept much and Ciri is an early riser. Before, that meant they started moving before dawn, now it means they train while Jaskier gets his beauty sleep.

But now Ciri is growing tired, her arms hurting no doubt and--

“Here,” Jaskier says, approaching them and giving Ciri a small silver dagger that looks familiar. “Geralt tried to teach me to use it once upon a time but…” he trails off, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe he’ll have better luck with you.”

Geralt narrows his eyes at him. “I gave it to you for your protection.”

“Well, yes and now I’m giving it to Ciri for  _ her  _ protection,” Jaskier replies flippantly. “Besides, as I told you last time, that’s why I have you, isn’t it?” He smiles innocently, batting his eyelashes playfully. “You wouldn’t allow any harm to befall upon me.”

No, he wouldn’t. But-- “It was useless in your hands anyway,” Geralt replies and Jaskier huffs, amused, while Ciri looks between them, a curious expression on her face. 

“Ciri will save me if it all comes down to it, won’t you Ciri?” Jaskier asks and the Princess arches an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“Of course,” she replies with a soft smile, entertained but honest. She turns to face Geralt, an all too knowing smile on her lips that has the Witcher gulping nervously. “Should we get back to the lesson? We wouldn’t want to leave Jaskier unprotected.”

Geralt does not particularly care for the girl’s tone.

Not one bit.

* * *

“No.”

“But Geralt--”

“I said no.”

“But--”

“You’re supposed to be undercover,” Geralt sentences, looking directly at Ciri. “Stop encouraging her,” he continues, turning to look at Jaskier.

The bard rolls his eyes. “You cannot expect me not to encourage her from pursuing her artistic inclinations!” he declares dramatically and from the corner of his eye, Geralt can see Ciri grinning. “Besides, she has a great voice, haven’t you heard her?”

Of course Geralt has. He’s not entirely sure when, but at some point in their travels Jaskier started teaching Ciri his songs and now he has not one but two people singing tales of his supposed heroics and now she wants to join Jaskier at his next presentation.

“It’s dangerous,” he argues, although he suspects he has already lost this battle. He has trouble denying anything to either of them and with the two of them ganging on him -- well. It’s just too much.

“It’ll be fine,” Jaskier says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I happen to have just the perfect-- wait, it’s around here--” he says, staring to rummage inside his bag. “Aha! Ta-da!” he exclaims, presenting Ciri with what looks like a rat’s nest but when the girl starts combing it, it starts to look like an old wig. 

Geralt resists the urge to ask why Jaskier has a wig. “You’re not going to drop it, are you?” he asks, watching as Ciri puts the wig on. It could work, he thinks, provided they clean and comb the old thing properly beforehand.

“No!” both Jaskier and Ciri reply and Geralt rolls his eyes dramatically.

“You’ll be death of me,” he declares, but he’s smiling just the slightest bit and his companions cheer, pleased to have got their way.

Hopefully, it won’t cause much trouble.

One can only hope.

* * *

“I told you she’d be a hit,” Jaskier tells him later that night, coming to sit next to him. “Even the most stone hearted people can not resist children singing.”

Geralt very much doubts that, but he doesn’t point it out. “She’s good,” he says instead. “Besides, the good patrons are probably relieved that you stopped singing along.”

“Ha-ha,” Jaskier replies, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re so funny, Geralt.” He shoves his shoulder playfully and Geralt smiles, returning the gesture although careful with his strength. Jaskier looks at him, eyes bright with happiness and Geralt’s stomach twists funnily. He feels warm, very warm and he does not try to pull away when the other man grabs his hand, squeezing gently.

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Jaskier confesses softly and Geralt wonders just how much he’s been drinking. “I missed you.”

Geralt squeezes his hand back. “I’m glad too,” he murmurs softly, relaxing as Jaskier rubs his wrist over his band. “I don’t-- It wasn’t the same, traveling without you.”

Jaskier looks at him from underneath his lashes, a small smile on his lips. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

Before Geralt can reply though, Ciri ends her song and the patrons start clapping enthusiastically, a few even cheering and Jaskier pulls away, going to fetch Ciri, thanking everyone for their applause and Geralt bites his lip, forcing himself to look away.

He should not indulge in this illusion, he thinks. One day Jaskier will leave again and Ciri will grow and he-- he--

He rubs his wrist thoughtfully, the phantom of Jaskier’s touch lingering. He looks up once more, catching sight of Jaskier and Ciri bowing as people continue to clap and he sighs, his chest aching.

Witchers don’t have families. Witchers generally don’t even have soulmates and even though Geralt has one, he doesn’t think it counts, given that it’s a one-sided match. He shouldn’t indulge in this illusion, he shouldn’t allow himself to bask in the warmth of having both Jaskier and Ciri in his life.

And yet--

* * *

“I’m just saying, that Ciri is a princess and all this traveling isn’t--”

“And what are you suggesting, then?” Geralt demands, careful to not raise his voice. They’ve been having this argument for a while now: while they’ve reached a certain level of contentment, all of them happy enough with their current situation, Jaskier thinks that this kind of life isn’t conductive to raising a child and Geralt agrees-- but it’s the only life he knows and he doesn’t know what else he can do.

“Well…” Jaskier says, looking oddly hesitant, chewing on his lip. “I told you once we could head for the coast, remember? Relax for a little bit…” he shrugs noncommittally. “Get away for awhile.”

Geralt remembers that conversation all to well, to be honest. He also remembers quite clearly what happened next. “Witchers don’t retire,” he says mulishly.  _ But I’d like that, if you stayed with me,  _ he doesn’t say.

Jaskier turns to stare at the floor, a defeated expression on his face. “Did you work it out?” Geralt asks after a brief pause, because he’s a fool. There are a hundred other things he could say and what he chooses is--

“What?” Jaskier asks, turning to look at him, confused.

“What pleases you,” Geralt replies and Jaskier stares at him for a beat. Several emotions cross his face, like he can’t decide what he’s feeling, but when he opens his mouth to reply, a scream coming from the nearby river has them springing to their feet.

“Ciri!” they both yell, already running towards the sound. Geralt’s insides are twisted with worry; he should have been paying more attention, he shouldn’t have let her go to fetch water on her own. But he’s weak, so very weak, so desperate to spend time with Jaskier and now-- now--

He feels the magic before any sign of it comes into sight and his heart stops in his chest. This is bad, terrible really and it’s all his fault. If he--

“Geralt!” a new voice calls, as he comes to an abrupt stop in front of what looks like an small tornado. “Tell her I’m harmless!”

Yennefer is a lot of things, but harmless isn’t one of them. Still-- “Ciri, it’s fine!” he yells, hopping she’ll hear him over the roar of the wind. How she managed to conjure it, he has no idea, but he figures that’s a problem for another moment. “I’m here! Yennefer won’t hurt you!”

The wind stops blowing immediately, leaving a shaking Ciri behind. Yennefer, standing in front of her, clothes and hair askew, looks a little pale but unharmed.

“Ciri!” Jaskier calls, finally catching up with them and hurrying to the girl’s side, which leaves Geralt free to go check on Yennefer. “Are you alright?”

The girl nods, but she does look badly shaken and it occurs Geralt she has no control whatsoever over her powers, very much like her mother, only hers are even stronger. He should have realized her potential, he should--

“Stop blaming yourself,” Yennefer tells him. “You couldn’t have know she could… do that,” she gestures vaguely, looking a little winded. “She’s very strong.”

Geralt nods, but he still thinks he should have noticed sooner. He should--

“Yennefer,” Jaskier has finally noticed the sorceress it seems, no longer fussing over Ciri, although holding her close. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Hello bard,” she greets politely, a cold smile on her lips. There’s no love lost between them, although Geralt doesn’t really understand why. “I see you two kissed and made up, huh?”

Geralt glares at her while Jaskier huffs, turning around sharply and starting to guide Ciri back to the camp. Yennefer looks at Geralt, one eyebrow raised, amusement clear in her expression and Geralt grunts, before turning around and starting to follow his companions.

“I guess that’s a no,” he hears Yennefer mutter, but he does not turn to look at her.

He has the impression things are only going to get much more complicated now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As you can see, I got carried away but hopefully it was enjoyable all the same? My lack of knowledge of the rest of the Witcher’s canon is probably more noticeable now that we’re not following the show-canon, but I hope it was enjoyable all the same?  
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I honestly thought I was going to finish this in three chapters. But alas… it just keeps growing and growing :P And I thought I could push the four last scenes here anyway and then I listened to “A thousand years” and I was like, _oh, the pining is strong in this one_ and well… now there are still 4 more scenes to go, but they’ve gotten a little longer :P
> 
> On a side note, I’m a little concerned about my portrayal of Yennefer. I hope it works :P 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Ciri curls into her bedroll, still shaking but looking much more composed. Jaskier is still muttering comforting words, running his fingers through her hair, sitting on the floor next to her. He spares a quick glare upwards when Yennefer finally makes it into the camp, but he keeps most of his attention on the girl, who’s slowly falling asleep.

“She needs to learn to control it,” Yennefer says, taking a seat by the fire, stretching out. “It could be dangerous, both for her and those close by.”

Geralt hums, leaning against a tree. Witchers know magic of course, but he’s not certain his knowledge will be enough for someone with Ciri’s powers. They ought to find her a teacher, but--

“I wonder if this is how Tissaia felt when she met me,” Yennefer ponders out loud, leaning forward, resting her chin against her hand. “She does have a lot of raw potential and with a little training--”

“You’re not taking her away,” Jaskier interrupts sharply, Ciri’s breathing calm and steady now, signaling sleep.

Yennefer smirks, amused. “Relax, bard. I’m not here to steal your child.”

Jaskier huffs, but doesn’t exactly protests Yennefer’s words. Geralt’s foolish heart skips a beat, but he quickly reminds himself it actually means nothing at all.

“Do forgive me if I don’t exactly trust you,” Jaskier says after a beat. “What are you doing here, Yennefer?”

The woman shrugs non committedly, but she avoids eye contact. “I was just passing by, honest. I did not intend to alert you of my presence, but when I saw the child-- well. Now I understand why Nilfgaard is looking for her so eagerly.”

Geralt frowns, unhappy with the news. He had assumed the hunt for Ciri continued, but that it was a bit of an afterthought for the Nilfgaardian monarch. Now though--

“What are we going to do?” Jaskier asks, addressing Geralt, as if the news somehow was _their_ problem. Geralt guesses it sort of is, seeing he’s traveling with them, but if they part ways--

It occurs Geralt, a bit belatedly, that maybe Jaskier does intend to stay with them for the long run.

The realization leaves him a little lightheaded. Jaskier cares, of course he does and he has known that for a long while, but this seems much bigger than that. It feels like-- as if--

But no. Better not to think about that now.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Yennefer says, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Let’s just say they might be running in circles for a while, following a false trail.” She smiles mischievously and Geralt can’t help the small grateful smile that comes unbidden to his lips.

“Of course, silly me,” Jaskier murmurs annoyedly, mostly talking to himself, Geralt suspects. “I forgot we had an all powerful sorceress on our side.”

“You’re very welcome,” Yennefer tells him, enjoying needling him quite a bit and Geralt throws a warning glance in her direction. She smiles innocently at him, which prompts another annoyed huff from the bard.

Geralt holds back a sigh. The last thing he needs is those two bickering, but he suspects that any attempt on his part to get them to _play nice_ with each other will only end badly.

“Anyway, I think I’m going to go to sleep now,” Yennefer announces, magically producing a full tent out of nowhere. He’s a little impressed, truth be told. “Would you care to join me?” she asks, batting her eyelashes playfully at Geralt.

The Witcher huffs, pointedly going to sit down on his bedroll. Yennefer arches an eyebrow, amused. “Well then,” the sorceress says, disappearing inside the tent. “Have fun.” 

Geralt turns to look at Jaskier, who’s whole focus is back on Ciri, still running his fingers through her hair. His lips curve upwards, just the slightest bit and he thinks he’s much better out here, where he can continue to witness this.

He likes Yennefer, he really does, but she’s not his soulmate and it’s time he stops pretending he could ever be content with someone else.

It’s in everyone’s best interests, really.

* * *

“You could have gone with her,” Jaskier tells him at some point during the night, making Geralt turn on his side so they’re facing one another. Ciri sleeps between them as usual, looking more peaceful now, expression relaxed.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums in acknowledgement, because he’s not entirely certain of what Jaskier wants him to say. The bard sighs, closing his eyes.

“I mean-- you probably still could, if you wanted. I don’t think she’d exactly refuse. And it’s-- I mean, it’ll be fine. I’ll look after Ciri. If something happened--”

“I’m fine here,” Geralt replies, reaching for him over Ciri’s sleeping form. The girl protests at Geralt’s arm draped around her in his attempt to reach for Jaskier’s hand, but settles soon enough. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Jaskier looks at him with wide eyes, his expression something that Geralt can’t interpret. The bard smiles, squeezing Geralt’s hand. “Well, that’s quite alright then. Goodnight, Geralt.”

The Witcher grunts in response, letting go of Jaskier’s hand. He misses the contact as soon as he withdraws of course, but it doesn’t seem like a very comfortable position to fall asleep into.

As he surrenders to sleep, he thinks of what a wonderful thing it’d be, to fall asleep with his soulmate in his arms.

But alas, that’ll never be anything other than a dream.

* * *

“What are you really after?” Jaskier’s voice breaks through Geralt’s mild slumber and he frowns, wondering what time it is. Jaskier never wakes up early and the moon is still high in the sky, casting its silver glow over the camp, which suggests it’s not even close to dawn. 

Before Geralt can say anything though, like ask who is Jaskier speaking to, he hears Yennefer’s chuckle, amused but fond, although Geralt thinks Jaskier might miss the fondness. “Do relax, Jaskier. I’m really not out to steal your child. Or your man,” she adds after a beat, mischievous and while Geralt remains very still, not alerting his companions of the fact that he’s awake, he glares at nothing in particular. 

“I don’t trust you,” Jaskier insists. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Yennefer laughs once more, soft and melodic. “If it makes you feel better,” she agrees cheerfully. “You admit it though?” Jaskier frowns, confused and the sorceress smirks, before clarifying. “That you think of them as yours.”

Jaskier’s stance changes, from relaxed to evidently tense and Geralt wonders if he should intervene. He’s still lying down, but he can see the pair quite clearly, despite the fire burning low. They probably can’t see he’s awake though, not only due the poor lighting, but because they seem to be too inmerse in their battle of wills. “I care for Ciri,” he replies, tone carefully controlled. “And Geralt is my friend. I remember all too well the wreckage you left the last time we ran into you.”

“Do you mean, the time last time I succeeded on stealing your man away?”

 _Yennefer_ , Geralt warns. He’s reluctant to have Jaskier know he’s been privy to their conversation, but the sorceress will be able to hear his thoughts just as well as if he spoke aloud.

“He’s my _friend_ ,” Jaskier insists, tone adamant. “And even if… I mean, did you, Yennefer? This might come as a surprise to you, but when it comes to relationships, there are other, _more important_ things than sex.”

“Like what you and Geralt have?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jaskier says, sounding annoyed but also… sad? “You know it’s not like that between us. If it was-- well, let’s just say you wouldn’t have been able to snare him, never mind your considerable charms.”

He’s right, but not for the reasons he’s thinking, so Geralt frowns. Yennefer laughs goodnaturedly. “Oh, wouldn't I? Your reputation certainly precedes you bard and based on the tales I’ve heard-- well, I might be willing to concede that point.” She leans back, watching Jaskier’s reactions carefully. “But the fact remains: I’ve had him and you haven’t.”

“Yes, and the point remains: sex isn’t everything,” Jaskier replies stubbornly.

“True, but wouldn’t sex be a nice added benefit to your already thriving relationship?” Yennefer asks and Geralt can’t help the grunt that escapes him. Luckily, the sound goes unnoticed by Jaskier, who’s too worked up now.

“What’s your obsession with that?” Jaskier snaps, standing up abruptly. “Why do you care?” He’s angry, that’s easy enough to see and it’s obvious he’s not expecting an answer, because he storms away before Yennefer can even think of replying.

“You might want to go after him,” Yennefer tells him, looking in Geralt’s direction. “You wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

Geralt closes his eyes, telling himself that he does not go after Jaskier because he does not want the bard chidding him about eavesdropping and not because he’s scared of what he might say if he does go after him now.

“Idiots,” Yennefer says, no doubt rolling her eyes and Geralt chooses to ignore her.

She has no idea what she’s talking about.

* * *

“Will I be able to do that too?” Ciri asks, eyes shining with enthusiasm as Yennefer combs her fingers through the girl’s hair, changing its color in their wake. It’ll be a decent disguise, as long as no one is looking too closely.

“It’s an illusion,” Yennefer replies dismissively. “But sure, with a little practice I’m sure this is the very least of the things you could do.”

Ciri nods, eager and Geralt sees Jaskier rolling his eyes. They both watch as the women continue merrily chatting among themselves: Ciri has certainly warmed up to sorceress, perhaps a little too quickly, probably helped by the fact that Yennefer has started Ciri’s training.

“She means no harm,” Geralt says softly, gently. “And she really does not mean to steal Ciri’s affection away.”

Jaskier sighs, shaking his head defeatedly. “It’s a little pathetic, don’t you think? To be this jealous?” he runs his fingers through his hair, expression sad. “It’s just-- she’s so-- I mean, I understand why people like her. I understand I don’t-- I mean, it’s not a competition but if it was we wouldn’t even be in the same league and--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, reaching for him and the bard turns to look at him. “Ciri adores you. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but then seems to think better of it, looking away instead. “You’re probably right,” he agrees after a bit. “Silly me, huh? Of course she won’t-- I mean, it’s not like you can only like one person at the time, right?”

 _I love you_ , Geralt wants to say. _I love you and I care for Yennefer, but I could never love her as I love you and nothing could ever change that, so don’t worry about it,_ but that’d be changing the subject a little. Jaskier’s insecurity is about Ciri’s affections, not Geralt’s, even if Yennefer seems convinced otherwise.

It’s not like that, he reminds himself sharply.

And he’ll do well to remember.

* * *

“Do you really have to keep doing that?” Geralt hisses, angry beyond words. He thinks they’ve managed to lose their pursuers, but Ciri is looking a bit afraid, holding onto Roach’s neck as a lifeline, and Geralt is a bit worried himself. Jaskier is doubled over, attempting to catch his breath, but of course he’s never one to stay quiet even when he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs.

“I’ll have you know I didn’t-- I mean, I was just-- how was I to know--?”

“That the Lady was engaged?” Yennefer offers, also breathing hard but looking more composed than the rest of them. “Maybe the ring on her finger should have clued you in?”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. “That hardly means something. I--”

“You can’t keep doing that,” Geralt interrupts sharply and Jaskier clenches his jaw, holding back whatever he wants to answer. “It’s not just the two of us anymore. We can’t leave the town in a hurry because you went chasing some skirt.”

“I didn’t--”

“We have Ciri to think of now,” Geralt continues, undeterred. “If you can’t keep it in your pants, then at least make sure the other party isn’t spoken for.”

In the past, when they had needed to leave a town in a rush, Jaskier had always been quick to proclaim his innocence, often only succeeding on annoying Geralt further. But that was before they had any actual responsibilities and now he looks suitably chastised, looking in Ciri’s direction guiltily.

“It won’t happen again,” the bard says finally and Geralt grunts. It hadn’t happened in a while, certainly not since they ran into each other once more and Geralt had dared to believe maybe they were past such nonsense. His heart had certainly been thankful for the reprieve of knowing his soulmate was no longer sleeping around but ever since Yennefer joined them--

And speaking of the sorceress… “You know, this has a very easy and practical solution. You could always--”

“Yennefer,” Geralt warns and the woman rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering something under her breath about just trying to help, that the Witcher is happy to ignore.

“I don’t understand,” Ciri says, finally recovering from the ordeal and looking more entertained than actually scared.

“What is it Ciri?” Jaskier asks, still looking guilty as hell. It’s not a good look on him, but it makes Geralt think he’s been sincere on his promise.

“The woman’s fiancé,” she replies, earning herself confused stares from all her companions, which makes her huff. “He said she was his soulmate.”

“So… what?” Jaskier asks, genuinely puzzled by the girl’s line of thought.

“Why would she cheat on him?” she asks, frowning. “It makes no sense.”

Jaskier turns to look at Geralt, probably looking for help, but the Witcher has no idea of what either of them can say. “Well… it’s not that simple,” Jaskier replies finally and the girl throws an unimpressed look in his direction, prompting him to continue. “I mean… it’s not like in the stories, Ciri. Finding your soulmate isn’t-- it’s no guarantee of happily ever after. If anything, it’s usually just the preamble for a lot of heartbreak.”

“Just ask Geralt here,” Yennefer supplies helpfully, making him turn to glare at her. “What? It’s true!”

It is, he supposes. And yet it isn’t completely true either.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Jaskier says and his voice sounds-- weird. “But let’s take your parents for example.” Ciri’s frown deepens and Geralt tries to convey with a look that’s a bad idea, but Jaskier is seemingly avoiding his eye.

“How so?” the girl asks, dismounting now that the danger has passed and allowing Jaskier to start leading her further away from the town they’ve just escaped and Geralt exchanges a look with Yennefer, prompting her to resume their walking.

“Well… did your grandmother ever told you the story of how she tried to cut open your father’s throat?”

“She what?!”

Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s probably not the best tale to illustrate whichever point Jaskier is trying to make, but it’ll keep her entertained and distracted for the time being.

Yennefer passes him, patting his arm and Geralt glares at nothing in particular, before turning his attention to Roach, who looks pretty unimpressed by the whole ordeal.

“Let’s hope it really doesn’t happen again,” he murmurs to himself, patting the mare’s flank and earning himself a disbelieving huff (or what passes as such) from her. 

She’s right, of course.

It’s very unlikely.

* * *

Although Geralt doesn’t really need any help, it seems to reassure Ciri to have him lean against her as they make their way into town. His whole body aches in ways he does not care to describe, but he does have the head of the creature terrorizing the town to show for his troubles and that’s likely to get him good coin, so he’s not exactly complaining.

“We should stay the night at the inn,” Jaskier points out, watching him from the corner of his eye. “You look a little pale.”

Geralt grunts, not exactly keen on the idea. The townsfolk had been terrified of the monster, yes, but they don’t take to Witchers kindly and they probably want them (well, just him really) out of sight as soon as possible.

“If nothing else, you need a bath,” Jaskier insists, sensing Geralt’s reluctance to stay. “Just for the night, please?”

“He’s right, you know?” Yennefer points out. “You stink.”

He huffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as the sorceress smirks. From the corner of his eye he catches sight of Jaskier’s mighty glare thrown in the woman’s direction. “We should stay,” Ciri says, before their light bickering spirals into an actual argument. “Please?” she adds, looking at Geralt with a pleading look and he sighs, conceding defeat.

“One night,” he sentences and Ciri nods, smile bright and relieved. 

He finds there’s very little he’d deny to the young princess.

And a bath really couldn’t hurt.

* * *

The innkeeper claims there’s only one room left and all the threatening glares from his companions don’t make the man change his claim, so they’re all stuck together in the small room. There’s another room at the end of the hall, housing the inn’s only bathtub and Geralt is quickly ushered there and since the bathroom is also ridiculously small, Jaskier doesn’t trail along for once.

He bathes quickly, reluctant to leave his companions for long, worried something might happen to them. The townsfolk don’t like Witchers and that’s not exactly new, but he’s concerned they might take out their displeasure at their stay on them.

Of course Yennefer could probably protect them, but that’s not here nor there.

When he goes back into the room, he’s faced with a problem he failed to contemplated when they agreed to take the room. Although there are two beds, they’re both single beds and they’re placed just a few centimeters apart, leaving no room for Geralt to lie down on the floor. Yennefer and Ciri have taken the bed on the left side and seem to be asleep now, while Jaskier sits on the other bed, humming a soft melody to himself.

“Ah, Geralt!” the bard greets, smile bright and relaxed, seemingly not at all at odds with their little predicament. “How are you feeling?”

Geralt grunts in lieu of a response, but of course Jaskier is well used to those kind of answers now. The bard smiles, patting the space next to him on the really small bed and Geralt approaches him slowly, hesitant.

“Oh, come on Geralt. We’ve slept in closer quarters than this,” Jaskier says with a roll of his eyes but Geralt very much doubts that’s true. They’ve lie next to each other in their respective bedrolls at night and shared the occasional double bed, but this--

There’s barely enough space for Jaskier, let alone for the two of them.

“It’ll be a tight fit,” Jaskier acknowledges, sliding closer to the wall, so he’s pressed against it and leaving as much room as possible on the tiny bed. “But I think we’ll both be too tired to notice it for long.” He yawns, as if punctuating his words and Geralt hums, figuring there’s no real reason to continue protesting. There’s no way around it, really and he’s very tired so--

“Try not to move much,” Geralt says, laying down, his back to Jaskier. His companion huffs and Geralt can feel him turning around, so they’re back to back. He’s not entirely convinced that’s the most comfortable position for his bedmate, but Jaskier doesn’t comment and so neither does he.

“Good night, Geralt. Sleep well,” Jaskier whispers, voice soft and sleepy and Geralt grunts once more. He somehow doubts he’ll be sleeping much, but he doesn’t say it.

There’s no use on complaining really.

* * *

The lack of jobs makes Geralt ansty, even if nowadays the lack of work doesn’t imply a lack of coin. Yennefer seems to have access to an endless supply of gold she’s happy to share if it means a comfortable bed and a warm meal and even when the sorceress is being difficult, Jaskier and Ciri can often earn enough to pay for a room and food, but it doesn’t really help Geralt’s mood. He was created to hunt monsters and when there are no monsters to hunt--

Well. Let’s just say he has a lot of pent up energy.

He’s itching for a good fight or a good fuck and he’s worried he’ll do something particularly stupid if he doesn’t find an outlet for the pressure building up inside him.

So when the tavern doors open abruptly and a giant man steps in, looking quite murderous while searching for someone, Geralt is almost happy Jaskier has managed to find himself another married (or engaged or whatever) lover.

Still, some apparences need to be maintained. “What did you do this time?” he asks the bard, aiming to sound annoyed, but really just too eager to get to the punching bit.

“Nothing!” Jaskier exclaims, looking at the mole of a man as he starts making his way decisively between the tables. “Geralt, really! I said it wouldn’t happen again and--”

Before he can finish the sentence, the man throws off a table, startling the pair that had been sitting by it. They spring apart so quickly it’s almost funny and then of course accusations and threats start flying around and Geralt realizes that, for once, Jaskier isn’t actually the one causing trouble.

“Ha! Told you!” the bard exclaims proudly, going back to his dinner with gusto. “Really Geralt, your lack of trust is appealing.”

Geralt grunts, focus back on his food although he’s lacking appetite. The rest of the tavern patrons’ attention is on the trio arguing very loudly and Geralt huffs, almost sorry Jaskier is keeping his word.

“I still don’t understand it,” Ciri says, as one of the men storm out of the inn, his two lovers following after him, still yelling at each other. “I mean-- If you have found your soulmate, why wouldn’t you be true to them?”

Yennefer huffs, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Oh, my dearest. How I miss being young and trusting.”

Ciri frowns, unhappy and Geralt very pointedly keeps his eyes on his half eaten stew. He knows little of love and even less of soulmates that actually have the joy of having their love returned.

“It’s really not that simple, Ciri,” Jaskier says, tone a little too cheerful to be honest. “A soulmate mark isn’t a guarantee for a happily ever after. If anything, they’re more like… like... like a guideline! Yes, that person could be the love of your life, but it’s not like you don’t have to work for it.” He shrugs non committedly. “Love is never easy.”

“You know, I pledged you as a romantic,” Yennefer says, resting her chin on her hand as she leans forward on the table. “I would have thought a bard like you would be all for soulmates and happy endings.”

Jaskier huffs. “I mean, I do love a good love ballad,” he says, shrugging. “But those stories only work out because they’re just that: stories. In my experience, finding your soulmate is only a very small, and the easiest, part of the journey.”

Yennefer hums. “Have you met your match then, bard?”

Geralt tries his best to ignore the conversation, but he’s in fact not being very successful. He wants to know and at the same time-- “The problem,” Jaskier says, ignoring Yennefer’s question. “Is that people think that just finding your soulmate is enough. They expect no difficulties, no hardships, not actually having to work for it. The whole premise is flawed, really.” He takes a long sip of his drink and carries on, undeterred. “It shouldn’t be taken at face value. You shouldn’t let a mark tell you who to love.”

“You’ve thought about this a great deal,” Yennefer points out and Jaskier shrugs once more, drinking some more.

“I mean… how could you know someone is meant for you without really knowing them? What if they’re your complete opposite? What if you have nothing in common and--”

Yennefer snorts. “Oh, please. Having things in common is overrated. I mean, look at you and Geralt. You couldn’t be more different and yet you get along just fine, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but we’ve worked for it. I mean, Geralt tried to get rid of me for the first… what, two - three months?” he asks, looking in the general direction of the Witcher who’s very busy glaring daggers at Yennefer to really notice. “And even now-- I know I get on his nerves more often than not.” He smiles, although it looks a little sad around the edges and he draps an arm around Geralt’s shoulders. “So you see, if you simply think that because you’re destined to be with someone, all your problems will magically disappear… well, then that’s not going to work.”

Yennefer hums, thoughtful. “So you’re saying that more important than a soulmate mark is the willingness to work for your relationship.”

“Commitment,” Jaskier declares decisively, dropping the arm around Geralt’s shoulders and the Witcher is hard pressed not to reach for it and place it back around him. 

Yennefer hums. “An interesting point of view,” she says, throwing a meaningful look in Geralt’s direction which he’s happy to ignore.

He knows what Yennefer is trying to insinuate and he also knows it’d be foolish to hope. Jaskier might not think much of soulmate marks _now_ but when he finds his actual match--

Well. It doesn’t bear thinking about it really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Geralt couldn’t be more oblivious if he tried but he’s such fun to write. I promise the happy ending is coming, I swear! As I said, I just have other 4 scenes planned (maybe 5?) and then they’ll finally figure it out :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the last chapter! Woah, was it a trip! It kept growing and growing and I was strongly tempted to break it out once more, but I decided enough was enough :P  
> I would like to remind you that I’m just familiar with the Netflix TV show canon so… I apologize for any inconsistencies :P  
> Also, the very short part of a song that appears belongs to “A thousand years” by Christina Perri. Listen to it if you don’t know it ;)  
> Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

So far up north, towns are usually so small they barely deserve to be called that. Most of the time they’re just a few houses scattered around, often without even a tavern where people can gather. The people there live quiet, mostly boring lives and while there are a few monsters prowling around the forest and the nearby mountains, the people know that as long as they don’t wander too far, they’ll be perfectly fine, so they have no use for a Witcher.

They do have an use for some form of entertainment though and while there’s not a tavern or an inn in several miles, one of the better off families in town had agreed to house them, as long as Jaskier and Ciri were willing to sing for them.

At night, people gather just outside the house, huddled together for warmth, completely unbothered by the falling snow, content enough to sit around and listen to the music. They’ve been in town for a little over two weeks and although Jaskier’s repertoire isn’t that vast, people are happy to hear the same songs over and over again.

“We should get moving,” Geralt says from his place near the house’s entrance, his side pressed against Yennefer’s for warmth. His body keeps warmth much better than a regular human’s, but it’s been snowing for the last four days and it’s ridiculously cold even wrapped up in his heavy coat.

“In this weather?” Yennefer asks, shivering a little. “Not a chance. We’d freeze to death before we found another town.” Geralt grunts, knowing she’s right and yet-- “I know you don’t like staying put for long, especially considering… well, you know,” she says, pointing at Ciri with her head. It’s dangerous being so far north really, they shouldn’t have-- “but I sincerely doubt Nilfgaardians are searching too hard in this weather.”

Again, Geralt grunts. It does sound logical, but he doesn’t like it. So far they have managed to avoid any trouble but he does not kid himself: sooner or later, their luck will run out.

The crowd around them breaks into an applause and Geralt watches Jaskier and Ciri bowing to the crowd, both red cheeked and grinning. If they’re cold, it certainly doesn’t show, both too caught up with the good cheer of the performance.

“I envy you, Witcher,” Yennefer says, resting her head on his shoulder. Geralt frowns, turning to look at her. “What a good life you have managed to find. The love of a child and of a soulmate-- what else could you ask for?”

Geralt hums, not wanting to argue. He supposes Yennefer is right, to a point: Ciri loves him, that much is clear, just as he loves her, even if he’s not terribly good at showing it. As for his soulmate--

Jaskier does love him, he knows. Not as he wishes he did, but he does love him and that’s enough. More than enough, even.

“You’ll get what you want,” he says, patting the woman’s arm in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “You won’t stop until you find a way to fulfill your wish.”

Yennefer smiles, her gaze lost in the distance. She will get her wish, he’s certain of that, if only because she’s too stubborn to give up on it, but there’s no telling how long it’ll take.

But it’s not like she’s running out of time. If there’s something Witchers and Sorcerers have plenty of, is time.

“I think,” Yennefer says, still looking into the distance. “That you should talk to him. You’ve heard his thoughts on soulmates, I’m fairly certain--”

“No,” Geralt deadpans, pulling away and the woman huffs, shaking her head.

“Have it your way,” she says frustratedly, standing up and going to socialize with a group of the locals, leaving him to practically freeze on his own. Geralt huffs, pulling his coat closer, continuing to watch the performance, his lips curving upwards on their own accord at the bright smile Jaskier throws in his direction.

This is enough, truly. There’s no need to tempt destiny.

And yet--

* * *

The house they’re staying in is big, a relic of better times. There are several empty rooms, but there’s no furniture in them and no safe way to build a fire so it might not be so cold. Therefore, Ciri and Yennefer are staying at the youngest daughter’s room, the girl bunking with her older sister. Those rooms are on the top floor, on the right wing where the little sun does shine through in the morning, leaving them slightly warmer than the rest of the house. For their part, Jaskier and Geralt are staying at one of the rooms that once were the servants quarters: the rooms are so small they actually keep some warm inside and they’re somewhat close to the house’s big furnace, so it’s not freezing cold.

But it’s cold all the same.

The bed is a single one, which is actually a good thing given the circumstances. They sleep practically on top of one another, their bodies pressed as close together as possible to keep what little warmth they can between them. It’s-- well, Geralt wouldn’t call it comfortable but it’s… _nice_.

“I like it here,” Jaskier tells him, his head resting on Geralt’s chest, an arm draped around his waist, the other caught between their bodies. “Even if it’s fucking freezing, it’s… nice.”

“You just like having such an enraptured audience,” Geralt replies, eyes closed so he can enjoy the moment unperturbed. 

“Well, that too,” Jaskier agrees, curling closer. “I also like having a bedmate to cuddle at night,” he adds with a mischievous smile that Geralt can feel pressed against his shoulder.

“You’ve never lacked those,” Geralt points out, because he’s a masochist apparently.

Jaskier huffs. “It’s not the same,” he argues. 

“How so?”

“Well, for starters there are more clothes involved,” he says, pulling at Geralt’s shirt and the Witcher tries his best not to react. “Also, you’re my friend, Geralt. It’s just-- it’s different.”

Geralt does not understand what’s the difference, but he hums, tightening his own grip around Jaskier’s waist. “You should go to sleep,” he says, because he is tired and he suspects he does not want to have this conversation.

The bard sighs, his breath warm against Geralt’s shoulder. “Right. Goodnight then.”

In lieu of a response, Geralt just grunts.

* * *

There are few luxuries that can be afforded in towns like this, but a warm bath is one of them. It’s wasteful for just one person to use it at the time though and so they’ve made do, with Ciri and Yennefer sharing theirs and Jaskier and Geralt sharing too.

It’s not that different from their usual baths, truth be told. It’s curious how often Jaskier invites himself to join Geralt for a bath, less curious is that the Witcher allows it. Or well, for Geralt it’s no mystery at all, although he imagines it’s not quite so clear for everyone else.

Except Yennefer, of course. And now Ciri, probably.

It’s not a true hardship to share a bath with Jaskier, the bard always eager to help, being his usual cheerful and loud self. Most of the time he entertains Geralt with some tale of his life _before,_ the tales just as outrageous as his stories vaguely based on Geralt’s hunts. The Witcher listens distractedly, most of the time, simply enjoying the warmth of the water and the proximity of the other man.

Currently, Jaskier is sitting between Geralt’s legs, since the Witcher is helping him wash his hair. Strictly speaking, it’s not necessary at all, the tub big enough for both of them to sit on opposite sides and both quite capable of washing themselves. It’s comfortable however and Geralt is too weak to deny himself what little happiness he can find like this.

If he closes his eyes and thinks about nothing, he can almost pretend his life has got as perfect as it can, with his soulmate finally at his side.

As usual, Jaskier is singing quietly to himself, head thrown back to allow Geralt to rinse his hair. It’s a slightly mournful tone, but the whispered lyrics seem to contradict that notion. “That one is new,” he points out as Jaskier sits up straight. The bard smiles, looking at him over his shoulder.

“Ah, so you do pay attention to my songs,” he says with a slight smirk and Geralt is hard pressed not to roll his eyes.

“Hardly. But in case you haven’t noticed, there’s nothing to do at night in this town and I’ve been listening to your entire repertoire on repeat.”

Jaskier chuckles, facing forward once more. “That’s the reason I’m working on a new song, actually,” he says, although Geralt can tell by his tone it’s not the full reason. “I’m not sure how many times we can sing the same songs before the people mutiny.”

Geralt hums. “You could always sing something you didn’t compose yourself.”

“Oh, how dare you!” Jaskier exclaims dramatically, exactly as Geralt knew he would when he voiced the idea. “I’d never-- that’s not-- I have my pride, you know?”

“Yes, but we also need a roof over our heads, so…”

Jaskier huffs, shaking his head. “Have a little faith in me, Geralt. I’ll show you.”

The Witcher nods, even though the other man can’t see him. “I do have faith in you,” he whispers softly, massaging his companion’s scalp. “One way or another, you always come up with something.”

Jaskier doesn’t answer, his head tilted to the side as if he’s thinking about something very seriously. Geralt wonders if he’s said too much, if he somehow has hinted at the magnitude of his feelings, but before he can work himself into a proper panic, Jaskier goes back to singing quietly.

It’s relaxing, if nothing else.

_And all along I believed, I would find you_

_Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years_

_I'll love you for a thousand more_

The tune is too mournful, Geralt thinks, not quite fitting for a love song. They are lovely lyrics all the same and the sentiment--

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, throwing his head back once more so they’re more or less facing one another. It’s an odd angle, no doubt uncomfortable, but as usual with Jaskier, everything else becomes an afterthought when he’s working on a composition.

Geralt watches him in silence, taking in his bright smile, his curious eyes. His chest aches with longing and all he wants--

But no. That’s a bad idea. “Humans don’t live a thousand years,” he points out because… well, it’s the truth and also because he doesn’t feel like answering honestly.

Jaskier snorts. “I know that, obviously,” he says, evidently put off, sitting up straight again. “I just… it’s a metaphor, Geralt. Humans don’t live that long, but the sentiment… that lives on, don’t you agree? When love is true, it lingers even after death.”

Geralt hums, unconvinced. He truly knows nothing of love. “If you say so.”

Jaskier turns around, so he’s on his knees and facing Geralt. “You’ll probably get around living a thousand years. If you loved someone and that someone loved you back, wouldn’t-- what I mean to say is-- _Geralt._ ” There’s something pleading in his tone, but for the life of him, Geralt doesn’t understand what he wants from him. He’d give it to him, he really would, if only--

Before he can ask for further clarification (or rather, change the subject completely), he finds himself being kissed. It’s a timid kiss, not quite on the mouth, but it lingers long enough for him to react and kiss back, just as hesitantly.

The kiss is everything Geralt has been told a first kiss with your soulmate is like. It’s gentle, passionate without being all consuming. It’s a soft meeting of mouths that feels well rehearsed despite happening for the first time.

There’s no true urgency in the kiss, despite the fact that they are pressed close together, Jaskier straddling his lap now. He’s vaguely aware of his body reacting to the kiss, but that seems completely secondary, not that all important: all that matters is the kiss for itself, the kiss that tastes like home despite Geralt barely remembering what having a home is like. He feels warm and happy and _complete._

Jaskier’s hands are buried in his hair, keeping him in place as if Geralt would ever want to pull away. His own hands rest on his companion’s hips, a gentle pressure to assure the other of both his presence and his willingness to participate.

Eventually though, he can’t stop his hands from wandering and Jaskier makes a soft pleased sound, managing to press closer somehow. It’s not close enough: after all they are two parts of one soul, divided by their bothersome bodies. But it’s closer than they’ve ever been before and for the moment, it’ll do.

He runs his hands over his partner’s back, relishing the content sounds the other makes as he does. He runs them over Jaskier’s sides, touching his abdomen, his tights, his shoulders. He runs his hands down the bard’s arms and that’s when reality comes rushing back; as his fingers brush Jaskier’s wristband, he’s suddenly reminded why he could never have this.

He pushes the other man away and Jaskier allows it, not even with a pip of protest. His pupils are blown, his hair a right mess, mouth swollen due all the kissing and biting. Geralt is hard pressed not to forget all about his concerns and go back to what they were doing, he’s severely tempted to forget for a minute (or a few) that he’s not actually Jaskier’s soulmate and just enjoy this, but deep down he knows that will only hurt worse in the long run.

So he must stop, even if it feels like denying himself something as vital as air.

“We don’t have to talk about it, of course,” Jaskier tells him, tone sad and defeated, as if he expected this outcome all along.

“Jaskier, it’s--” Geralt begins, because he feels like he must explain, even if he doesn’t have the right words for it. “I can’t do this with you,” he settles for. It’s a part of the truth, although it omits the real crux of the matter.

“Right,” the other man says, avoiding his eyes deliberately. “As I said… it’s fine, we don’t need to discuss it. It’s-- I knew it was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have-- I just-- I wanted--”

“It’s not you,” Geralt assures him, because he doesn’t want Jaskier to feel _guilty._ It’s not his fault that Geralt isn’t his soulmate and truly, Geralt does want to indulge in this illusion but at the same time--

Jaskier laughs, a horrible sound devoid of all warmth. “Right. It’s you, isn’t it?” he stands up, grabbing a towel from the nearby chair. “That’s-- Please, Geralt. Just don’t-- it’s fine, truly.”

But it isn’t. And Geralt should explain, but he _can’t_ , because if he does then Jaskier will know the truth of his mark and if he does--

Jaskier does not believe in soulmates, not really. But if he bore Geralt’s words, he’d have told him by now if only to get it out of the way and he might love him, he might think he wants this but in the long run-- in the long run--

And so Geralt watches him go, sitting very still on the quickly cooling water, cursing destiny’s cruel sense of humor that saw fit to gift him with a soulmate only for it to be a one-sided match.

He should be used to it, really.

* * *

“Have you thought about--”

Geralt doesn’t let Yennefer finish the question, silencing the sorceress with a look. He’s not even sure how she has managed to figure out what happened last night, but he doesn’t want to think much on the subject. The woman huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed. “Ugh, I don’t know how much longer I can stand all your pining. Almost makes me want to portal myself somewhere else. I should probably take Ciri along, she certainly doesn’t deserve to be stuck with you emotionally constipated--”

“Wait,” Geralt says, narrowing his eyes at the sorceress. “How could I forgot! You could have portaled us somewhere else ages ago! Why didn’t you say something?” 

Yennefer bites her lip, looking slightly guilty. “Well, I don’t… you see, my powers are a bit diminished ever since the battle of Sodden,” she explains, staring at her feet. “So technically I could in a pitch, I suppose, but in my weakened state, I’d rather save my power for an emergency.”

Geralt watches her, actually paying attention this time. “You look fine.”

“Why, thank you,” Yennefer replies flirtatiously, earning herself a huff from her companion. “I don’t-- I can handle some stuff, Ciri’s training certainly, but something big, not quite illusion-like, as creating a portal… I’m not so sure.”

Geralt grunts. Typical, really.

“Besides, you shouldn’t be running away from your problems,” Yennefer tells him. “All in all, I think this little reprevie might help you two figure things out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Geralt argues and the sorceress huffs.

“Clearly,” she murmurs sarcastically, patting his shoulder. “Your commitment to be as miserable as possible is remarkable. Stupid, but remarkable.”

The Witcher snorts, standing up and retreating back to the house, unwilling to continue that conversation. Yennefer is welcome to think whatever the hell she wants, but he knows how things are and he knows better than to indulge in an illusion, no matter how wonderful it might be.

It’s meant to shatter, sooner or later and that’s a pain he’d rather avoid.

* * *

It’s late at night, the entire house silent except from its occupants’ breathing. Geralt had been half tempted to spend the last few nights literally anywhere else, if only to spare both himself and Jaskier from the awkwardness that was bound to arise from their kiss, but he had thought that might be a bit counterproductive and only make things worst down the road.

It’s curious, he thinks, how far away from someone you can be, even when they’re practically lying on top of you. Jaskier is awake, keeping himself mostly still while pretending to sleep, but not quite succeeding. 

It’s nice though, to be like this, despite the obvious tension between them. He’s going to miss sleeping this close to his soulmate, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal. He’s not looking forward to leaving, not exactly and at the same time--

“It has finally stopped snowing,” Jaskier says, apparently giving up on his pretense of sleep. “The roads should be cleared in a week or so, if it doesn’t snow again.”

Geralt hums. He simultaneously wants to leave and at the same time-- “Will you continue traveling with us?” he asks, dreading the answer. He’d understand if Jaskier wanted to leave,he really would, but--

Jaskier snorts. “It’ll take more than a failed seduction for me leave your side again,” he replies, drumming his fingers against Geralt’s chest nervously. “Unless you want me to leave?”

Geralt shakes his head, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist unconsciously. “I’ll never ask you to leave again. And if I do, feel free to knock some sense into me,” he says softly but earnestly. He can feel Jaskier smiling against his chest and he feels like a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. 

“Good,” Jaskier murmurs softly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t send me away, because I really don’t relish the idea of leaving you and Ciri with only the witch for company.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand your… grudge against Yennefer.”

The bard sighs. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he whispers, his fingers still dancing over Geralt’s chest. “Sufficient to say, I don’t like her.”

They lay together in silence for a while, Geralt listening to Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s a reassuring sound, quite calming and he loves hearing it. 

“Have you thought about what I said?” Jaskier asks after a beat. “About the coast, I mean.”

Geralt hums, a little lost in the feeling of Jaskier’s fingers dancing over his chest, itching to reach for them and hold his hand, but knowing that’s not a very good idea. “I do believe Ciri needs something more… stable. I’m not entirely convinced it’s the safest route however and I-- Witchers don’t _settle down_.”

“It’s not permanent,” Jaskier points out, but his tone is thoughtful. “It’s just for a while.”

Geralt hums once more, not entirely sure of what he could say. The idea of staying still never really appealed him, but now he realizes it was because he couldn’t picture coming to an empty home and finding any joy in it. With Jaskier and Ciri there though…

“You never told me,” he says, recalling their last conversation on the subject. Jaskier frowns, confused and so he hurries to clarify. “Did you figure it out? What pleases you?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. “I did, I think. But… well, you know. You can’t always get what you want,” he replies finally, sounding infinitely sad. “But I think-- I mean, it might not be all I want, but it could be what I need.”

Again, the Witcher just hums. The confession leaves a hollow feeling in his chest, although he can’t understand why. He does not wish to think about it for long though, because he thinks he won’t like the answers he’ll find.

So he says nothing and simply continues lying in silence, waiting for sleep to take them. 

It seems like the safer course of action.

* * *

The town is filled with good cheer, people forgetting all about the dreadful cold in the light of their celebration. It is the first engagement party that Geralt has attended where the involved parties actually seem happy about their engagement and while he’s not really showing it, he’s enjoying it.

He supposes it’s not terribly uncommon for engagement parties to be happy celebrations of people who actually love one another, but Witchers aren’t liked enough by humans to get an invitation to a party of such kind. Nobles and royals might occasionally invite them out of a misguided sense obligation or a because they believe it might play in their favor one way or another, but those kind of engagements are usually notoriously unhappy.

This particular town however has warmed up to Geralt considerably, mostly because he’s become a constant sight in their everyday life and in all likelihood, Jaskier’s songs have helped too.

Jaskier is playing, because of course he is and Ciri is dancing with the local children, occasionally taking breaks to play some game or another. It’s good for the girl to interact with other children and Geralt’s heart warms at the sight. She does need some stability in her life, but he’s still unsure if he can provide it.

He looks at Jaskier once more, thinking of his proposal. As the bard himself said, it might not be what he wants, but the quiet life in the coast might be just what he needs.

“It’s not the worst idea,” Yennefer tells him, taking a long sip from her own drink. “I would stay around for a while, to continue Ciri’s training but I’d definitely leave at some point. No offense, but all your sweet domesticity is bound to drive me insane.”

Geralt hums.

It’s not a bad idea at all.

* * *

The happy engaged couple retires for the night, between cheers and teasing comments. The town square is considerably emptier by now, just a few people lingering and huddled together in small groups, nursing what’s left of their drinks. Geralt has been joined by the rest of his companions, sitting at the stairs of one of the town’s old abandoned buildings and they’re all drinking what’s left of their ales and, in Ciri’s case, her mulled wine.

“I had never seen a case of soulmates who meet when one was a literal baby,” Ciri comments, smiling softly. “That must have been-- weird.”

Jaskier snorts, taking a swing from his drink. “The whole obsession with the soulmate mark is ridiculous. The girls knew they liked one another and yet refused to do anything about it, but the minute one of their mothers casually mentioned the first words one of them said upon meeting… _voila._ Happily engaged.”

“Don’t be so bitter,” Yennefer argues, bumping his shoulder good naturedly. “It’s sweet.”

Jaskier snorts, but doesn’t protest. Ciri stares at her mug, as if it held all the answers in the world. “Back in Cintra,” she starts, her voice quavering just the slightest bit. “It was traditional that upon being introduced to someone for the first time you’d blurt out the most outrageous thing you could think of. Supposedly, it’d make recognizing your soulmate much easier.”

“Makes sense,” Yennefer says, nodding sagely. “Less chances of having something completely innocuous and commonplace written on your skin and so accidentally mistaking your match.”

“Exactly,” Ciri agrees, nodding. “People still had common phrases as marks, though. There was this woman in the kitchen,” she chuckles, remembering the story fondly. “Her mark said _it’ll be 5 gold coins, if you please._ She told the story of how she meet her husband all the time and it’s just-- I mean, imagine that! Imagine having such words written on your wrist.”

“Could be lots worse,” Jaskier mutters around his drink and Yennefer throws a warning glance in his direction. Geralt watches him curiously; he does seem a little bitter, but--

“No, but marks should be something… I don’t know, something interesting! Witty, silly, _charming._ Something worth of a ballad!” Ciri exclaims dramatically, standing up and Geralt wonders if she perhaps has had a tad too much mulled wine. 

“You can work practically anything into a ballad,” Jaskier argues and Geralt frowns at him, but he only offers him a shrug. “But I suppose something a little less mundane would be better,” he concedes.

“Yes, yes, like, look at mine,” Ciri says, taking off her wristband to the great horror of the adults. The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving her arm underneath Yennefer’s eyes. The sorceress hesitates for a beat, but Ciri does look quite sure of herself and so she obligues.

“ _Yes, I thought I recognized you: behold, the lion cub of Cintra_!” Yennefer reads. “Ominous,” she comments.

Ciri laughs, a happy sound with a curious edge. “I know, right? And given… well, _everything_ so far, more than a little worrisome but still--” she sighs dreamily, sitting down once more. 

Yennefer huffs. “Oh, how I miss being young and a hopeless romantic,” she declares jokingly and Ciri shoves her playfully, making the sorceress laugh. “Don’t mind me, dearest. I’m just jealous because I no longer have a mark,” she adds.

Ciri pats Yennefer’s knee comfortingly and the sorceress smiles at her, squeezing her hand gently. The girl then turns to Geralt, who simply arches an eyebrow and so she huffs, before turning her attention to Jaskier.

“What?” the bard asks, holding his drink close to him, protectively. 

“What about your mark?” Ciri asks and Geralt wants to chide her, because that’s not an appropriate line of questioning, but before he can she continues merrily. “You don’t have to show us, of course. Just-- does it say something properly epic? Something you’ll compose a ballad about one day?

Jaskier hesitates, clutching his wrist almost painfully. Geralt has wondered about the mystery of Jaskier’s soulmate for a long while; when discussing the subject, sometimes a look of regret will cross his face but his thoughts on the subject seem… contradictory, somehow.

“Let me show you,” the younger man says finally, putting his drink down and undoing the clasp of his wristband. Against his will, Geralt leans forward, eyes glued to Jaskier’s wrist. He doesn’t want to know, not really, but he can’t look away.

Jaskier takes off the band, revealing a patch of unmarked skin.

Except that’s not quite true. Unlike Yennefer’s wrist, the skin perfectly unmarred where her soulmate mark should be, Jaskier’s wrist is covered with an ugly looking scar, as if someone had pressed something very hot against the skin. Geralt’s heart constricts in his chest at the thought of his soulmate in pain as the mark got burned.

“Oh, Jaskier!” Ciri exclaims, grabbing the man’s hand in hers. “I’m so sorry! Who-- why-- oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jaskier interrupts gently, a soft sad smile on his lips, pulling his hand away. “It’s not-- I did it myself. I… well, you see, my parents were soulmates,” he explains, gaze lost in the horizon as he recalls something. Geralt frowns a little, Jaskier has talked to him of his past a great deal, but not once has he mentioned his parents. “They were also the unhappiest people in the world.” He rubs his wrist thoughtfully, measuring his words carefully. “I don’t exactly recall the incident that… lead me to this,” he says, gesturing at his burned skin. “But I do remember thinking that I didn’t want that. If finding your soulmate lead to such suffering… well, why would I want that?” He huffs, self deprecatingly. “It made all the sense of the world in my five-year-old mind.”

A gasp, although it’s hard to tell from whom. Maybe they all did, but Geralt isn’t paying enough attention to anything that’s not Jaskier’s wrist. He can not imagine what the poor boy may have witnessed that had lead him to make such a decision, but he aches with the thought of all the pain both physical and emotional he must have endured.

“And I don’t regret it,” Jaskier pronounces, standing up a bit straighter. “I decided long ago that I would not let a mark tell me who to love and I stand by that. I do keep it covered though, because people get all weird when they see the burn.”

No one speaks, since there’s really nothing to say to such declaration. It makes sense, in a twisted way and at the same time--

“Well, I think I’ll be taking my leave,” Jaskier announces after a brief silence, picking up his drink once more, but not covering his mark again. The rest of the group remains where they are, too lost contemplating the horror of what they’ve heard.

No wonder Jaskier never mentions his parents.

“Go after him,” Yennefer orders Geralt suddenly, turning to him and grabbing his arm forcefully. “You big idiot, go after him now.”

Geralt blinks, still processing and the woman huffs, shoving him onto his feet. “Go, Geralt!” she urges.

“You should go after him,” Ciri agrees quietly, still looking quite horrified. “If nothing else, he needs you now.”

Yes, Geralt supposes they’re right. And at the same time--

He’s been a fool, the biggest fool. He shouldn’t have pushed Jaskier away the other night, so caught up with his theory of a one sided match that he never considered-- He feared having his heart broken so much that he choose to break Jaskier’s instead.

What an idiot he’s been.

* * *

Jaskier has already made it to the house and to their room by the time Geralt manages to catch up with him. He startles when Geralt enters the room, mostly because he bangs the door when he does.

“Geralt, there’s not need--” he begins, retreating to the far wall, holding his hand close to his chest.

“I...” Geralt begins and then stops, because he has no idea of what to say. He’s been a fool, he knows that and he needs to make up for his mistakes, but--

Action has always come easier to him and so he strolls forward determinately, pulling Jaskier closer to him and kissing him.

“Geralt, no,” the bard argues, pushing him back. “I don’t-- I don’t need your pity. I really--”

“I need to show you something,” he interrupts and the bard frowns, looking at him quizzically.

Geralt takes a deep breath before reaching for his wristband and undoing the clasp. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but just like Geralt a few minutes ago, his eyes are pulled towards the mark despite himself.

“ _I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,_ ” he reads, frowning a little as he does. “I told you that when we met. At least-- At least I think I said something along those lines.”

“You did tell me that,” Geralt says, grabbing him by the arm as Jaskier starts to retreat once more.

Jaskier shakes his head, looking a little desperate. “I don’t-- I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t react to my words!” Geralt exclaims, all the pain and desperation he’s felt all these years coming forward. “I thought-- I thought it was a one-sided match.”

Jaskier blinks, processing the words and to Geralt’s great horror, he notices there are tears in the corner of his eyes. “But why-- I mean, I understand why you’d think that at first, but-- damn it Geralt, I’ve been following you for years like a lost puppy and it never occured you--?”

“I thought-- I knew you cared, but I didn’t-- I thought you’d eventually meet your actual match and that would be the end of it.”

Jaskier’s expression is somewhere between angry and just plain frustrated. “Even after I practically threw myself at you? After all I had said on the matter? Didn’t you think for a minute to maybe just ask me--”

“I’ve seen it before,” Geralt interrupts, his tone sharp since he’s growing frustrated himself. “People who claim that they don’t care about soulmates and that they’re happy with their current lover, leaving them behind the minute--”

“We’ve known each other for decades!” Jaskier exclaims. “How could you think that? Granted, I might not have the best track record with relationships, but I’ve been at your side for years! Even after that damned dragon hunt, I went back to you! How could you not know my love was true?!”

And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? “I--”

“You’re just-- you’re so convinced no one could actually love you, that you ran away with what little piece of evidence you could find because of course, who could ever love a Witcher, am I right?” Geralt flinches, because yes, that’s… that’s true. “But I do, Geralt. Soulmark or no soulmark, I’m in love with you.”

Geralt’s heart leaps at the words. “You are?”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Jaskier exclaims, before pulling him into a kiss. “Of course I do, you idiot. I’m just-- I’m so angry! Do you know how many times I’ve ranted at people’s stupidity of getting together just because a mark on your skin says so and you-- you--”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt apologies, because that feels like the sensible thing to do. “I didn’t-- I’ve been a fool.”

“Yes, indeed,” Jaskier agrees, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do realize there’s no way to know for sure if my mark actually matched your words, right? That there’s a chance, slim as it might be, that I have truly yet to meet my intended match.”

The sole notion is painful, but it’s true. The chances are very slim, but there’s no certainty. It’s likely that this whole thing has been a long standing misunderstanding, but there’s also the chance that Geralt’s theory is correct. “I know.”

“You also realize that even if that was the case, I wouldn’t give a damn because I love you?”

Geralt looks at him then, really _looks_ at him and yes, he sees it then. It’s always been there, he realizes, the confirmation of the fact that Jaskier truly loves him, but he always refused to _see_ , always scared of risking his heart without knowing for sure it wouldn’t end in tragedy.

“Yes,” he agrees finally, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him close. 

“You also realize this is not a happily ever after, right? There’s a lot of work for us to do from this point forward,” Jaskier continues, although his eyes keep dropping to Geralt’s lips.

“I do,” Geralt says. “And we will,” he promises.

“Good,” Jaskier says, smiling brightly. “As long as we’re clear… you can kiss me again, if you want.”

And oh, how Geralt wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I always meant for that ending, but once I wrote it, I started wondering if it actually worked or if it felt a little rushed. So, thoughts?  
> I loved reading your theories on why Jaskier hadn’t said anything about the mark, they were all so good! I hope my explanation didn’t disappoint. It was a little on the dramatic side, but I think it works. I hope it wasn’t too outrageous.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! It’s been such fun to write this little fic and I believe the fandom has won me over, so it’s very likely I’ll be back very soon with yet more fics so… there’s that ;)  
> A million thanks for your lovely comments/kudos! You have no idea how happy they make me :)  
> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Edit february 24th: and while I have your attention, some of you might be aware the Fandom Trumps Hate Auction is taking place again this year (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can find more info [here. ](https://fandomtrumpshate.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> For fourth year in a row I’m offering a fic for the auction, so if you’re interested, here’s the link to my [post](https://fth2020offerings.dreamwidth.org/tag/username:+ylc). 
> 
> Bidding begins on monday 24th, remember, it’s for a good cause! And also be sure to check out other collaborators posts :)

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find let me know! 
> 
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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